


Surface Tension

by cardinalrachelieu



Category: Alex Stern - Leigh Bardugo, Ninth House - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, I will not be taking criticism at this time, accidentally did A Plot instead, exists solely to justify the existence of the shower smut scene, let me be clear tho -- every word not included in the shower smut scene, meant to write pwp shower smut, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalrachelieu/pseuds/cardinalrachelieu
Summary: “It’s raining,” North said, voice casting across the empty graveyard.After Dawes had finished patching her up, Alex took a walk, ignoring the dark clouds on the horizon even as dawn crept closer. Somehow, she’d ended up just off Grove Street, standing in a sea of concrete and bones. Alex tilted her chin to the sky and let the fat droplets splash against her eyelids. “It’s quiet here.”---or,the one where alex stops running
Relationships: Bertram Boyce North/Alex Stern
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	Surface Tension

**Author's Note:**

> _“You can’t be here,” she said. “The wards—”_
> 
> _“I told you,” his reflection said, “wherever water pools or gathers, we can speak now. Water is the element of translation. It is the mediary.”_
> 
> _“So you’re going to be showering with me?”_
> 
> mizz bardugo knew exactly what she was doing when she included this exchange, do not @ me

Just once in her life, Alex would like to do something right.

She should probably be thankful that she and Dawes and Michelle had walked— _walked!_ —away from their latest attempt to retrieve Darlington, but she was just angry. Angry that the ritual had failed, but more angry that it had almost _worked._ Dawes had stitched it together herself, balancing the material components of a dozen different magics, ordering and reordering the text to summon a single fractured soul, overlaying sigils to banish the demon and bind the man. It had taken her two weeks alone to prepare the space.

Not that it had mattered, in the end.

The ritual had started much the same as the previous three: with Dawes and Michell weaving the spell while Alex and North controlled the flood of curious spirits. Then, something different. In the black, yawning void, Alex had heard Darlington’s voice—not the warped growl that blanketed the underworld’s skies, but _him_ —dazed and weak, like he was coming out of a dream.

 _“Al… ex...?”_

She froze, the shape of her name a haunting whisper of what it should be. Maybe she was imagining things, but then why was Dawes staring at her with a look of such dumb, vibrant hope? Michelle stared too, and neither she nor Dawes faltered over the spell’s melodic syllables, though Michelle punctuated her shock with a gesture for Alex to _say something, dammit._

 _“Alex…”_ Darlington said again, and this time she was sure it was him, even with the strange dual-tone quality of his speech.

She and North had their hands full warding off the hungry dead, but he waved her off, eyes full-black and silhouette pulsing with silvery-white energy. Alex hesitated, then turned her full attention toward the oblong, pitch-colored gateway. Dawes had said that for this to work, they’d need to establish a connection, remind Darlington of his humanity. Alex swallowed. “It’s us, Darlington.”

 _“Darling… ton...”_ he repeated, sounding confused.

“Daniel Tabor Arlington. That’s your name.” Alex redrew a thinning line along the inner circle. The spell was unstable, and it was taking all three of them to maintain it. Four, if she counted North. “ _Remember,_ Darlington. You have to remember.”

_“Daniel…”_

Dawes and Michelle merged their chants, and power flooded the room, sending Alex to her knee on a gasp. The air thickened, throbbed. 

“Yes,” Alex said, forcing herself back to her feet. “Daniel.” She cleared the perimeter and rooted herself in front of the portal. It churned and whorled and whorled and churned. “Your name is Daniel but you go by Darlington. You’re the Virgil of Lethe House and a righteous pain in my ass and the best man I know. Now please, let us bring you home.”

 _“Not… safe… Dante…”_ His voice was still murky, like he was speaking underwater, but it was growing clearer. Stronger. _“Leave… me…”_

“Quit trying to martyr yourself, you noble son of a bitch.” The darkness laughed, and Alex risked a smile. “We’re getting you out of there.”

Behind her, North loosed a pained howl, and she whirled. Four Grays had pinned him to the ground, and a fifth had its entire arm buried in his chest. “North!”

“Focus!” Michelle hissed, combining the final set of ingredients, but Alex was already sprinting toward the edge of the circle. She licked her knuckles, coated them in bone dust, then put her fist through each of the ghosts torturing North. He groaned after the last one disappeared.

Alex stood over him, panting. “You okay?”

His whole body convulsed. “G— go,” he croaked, black eyes slicing to the portal.

“Alex!” Michelle called, harsh enough that it landed like a slap, and that got Alex moving again— rushing back toward the gateway.

 _“Alex…”_ Darlington repeated. 

“Yes,” she said, staring into the black like she could _will_ Darlington to appear if she simply concentrated hard enough. “It’s me. It’s Alex.”

 _“Alex…”_ His voice bent strangely—wrongly—over the vowels.

“Yes,” Alex said again, more of a plea than an affirmation. “Follow my voice, Darlington. Come home.”

 _“Home…”_ Darlington’s tone wobbled, folding in on itself like a reverse echo. The dark rippled. Shimmered. Sharpened. _“Not… Darling… ton...”_ Before Alex could question the growl in the words, inky claws slashed through the opening, tearing her thin shirt as they caught her in the stomach. She yelped and fell backwards, landing on her hip with one arm clasped around her middle, and then she was being dragged across the floor— away from the portal.

“Pamela!” Michelle shouted, hefting Alex back another several feet, and Dawes redirected the magic into a containment spell.

No, no, no, they couldn’t stop— Darlington was _right there,_ they just needed to pull him through. Alex writhed in Michelle’s grip, and hot, piercing agony choked off her words, made her dizzy. She pinched her eyes shut and sucked in a wet breath, let it out on a scream. Their spell was working— Darlington just needed a little more time!

The shadow-arm darted out of the void again, claws searching, followed by a second arm, then a third, a fourth, a fifth—

_“Pamela!”_

Alex blinked, and North was diving through the portal, tackling the many-limbed beast back into hell. Jagged black swallowed them both.

The gateway shrunk and shrunk, straining under Dawes’s commands, and Alex begged her to _stop, please, wait_ —not for Darlington’s sake, she realized, horrified, but for North’s. What if he got trapped on the other side? What if he never came back? Blood seeped through her ruined shirt, slicking her skin and calling to the Grays, beckoning them to _come, taste._

Michelle cursed under her breath and rattled off a string of death words. At the same time, Dawes finished the spell, and the roiling darkness crumpled in on itself in a flash of white, leaving only silence. Bleating, aching silence.

Alex wheezed herself to sitting, tried to stand, failed, then finally flung herself onto her stomach to crawl. Maybe there was still time to reopen the portal, pull North back through. He couldn’t be gone. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t—

“Easy, Miss Stern,” an even-keeled voice soothed. “You’ll make the wound worse.”

Alex rolled onto her back and gazed up at North. He was crouching next to her, brows drawn together, eyes back to normal if not keen with concern. He was safe. He was here.

Alex heaved a sigh of relief, and instantly, viciously, she hated herself. Darlington was still trapped in hell. Still suffering.

And it was her fault.

Again.

* * *

“It’s raining,” North said, voice casting across the empty graveyard. 

After Dawes had finished patching her up, Alex took a walk, ignoring the dark clouds on the horizon even as dawn crept closer. Somehow, she’d ended up just off Grove Street, standing in a sea of concrete and bones. Alex tilted her chin to the sky and let the fat droplets splash against her eyelids. “It’s quiet here.”

“I may not be able to feel the weather as I used to, Miss Stern, but I _do_ remember that March rains bite.” He was closer now. So much for Grays disliking cemeteries. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Alex cracked an eye. Sighed. “ _Was_ quiet here,” she amended, gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering.

With slow, aggrieved determination, North advanced toward her, each step deepening the scowl on his already-irritated expression, like he was trekking through a sewer instead of wet grass. He took a winding path, avoiding headstones, giving a recently-disturbed patch of soil a wide berth, but eventually he came to a stop, closer than she’d like. 

“At least put on a coat,” he said, tone surprisingly smooth given the way his knuckles were going white, fingers balled into angry fists. He didn’t want to be here.

“Go haunt someone else.”

“Says the woman standing on my grave.”

The patter of rain was steady as a pulse. “Figured it would be the last place you’d visit.”

“Miss Stern.”

“Don’t—” She never should’ve forged this bond, never should’ve cared for someone whose bones lived in a box six feet beneath her boots. It was a stupid, desperate play—attaching herself to a Gray. What had she expected to happen, exactly? “Don’t use my name.”

“What would you have me call you, then?”

Alex swallowed. “Dante.” That’s who she needed to be. Alex might not be able to bring Darlington back, but maybe Dante could.

“You’re serious?”

“I want things to go back to normal.” _Normal._ As if things would ever be normal again.

North cheated a step closer. “And what if I don’t?”

“The dead don’t get a vote.”

“Miss Stern—”

“Dante.” She glared at him for good measure.

North pressed his lips together. “Dante,” he began again, softly, tenderly. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

Alex worked her jaw. “The hell it’s not.” Damn ghost. Where did he get off thinking he had the power to absolve her? If she hadn’t lost focus, Darlington would be back—might even be on his feet. Doubtful, but not impossible. Alex didn’t give herself over to guilt often, but when she did, she made sure to picture the most desirable version of all the possible outcomes. If she was going to devote time to hating herself, she was going to make the most of it. There were certain things you simply didn’t half-ass.

North moved to stand directly beside her, the tips of his loafers flirting with the invisible lines of his own plot. He grimaced but held his ground. 

“It’s my fault the hellbeast took him in the first place,” Alex muttered, staring at her own toes. The rain continued pouring, thick as sheets, pummeling the back of her neck, sliding beneath her shirt. “I could’ve saved him. But I didn’t. I didn’t even try.” It hurt to admit it out loud, more than she expected it would. Supposedly people felt lighter after such admissions. She just felt wet.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” North said after a long moment, and Alex made herself meet his gaze. “Hellbeasts do not give up their prey. It would’ve consumed you right along with him.”

Alex cocked her head. “And that would’ve upset you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Slowly, North brought his hand to her cheek, hovering his knuckles so close she could almost imagine the raindrops were his touch. “Is it not obvious?” he asked, voice pitched low.

On an exhale, Alex closed her eyes and let herself pretend. Water slid along her jaw, down her neck, caressed her lower lip— 

She recoiled. Blinked. Stared at North’s still-raised hand, fingers splayed, thumb pointing to the sky, slightly angled from when he’d swiped it over her mouth. She hadn’t _imagined_ anything.

North’s throat bobbed. He curled his fingers into a loose fist, then dropped his hand entirely.

“I should’ve ended this a long time ago,” Alex whispered, shaking her head, and then she steeled herself for what had to come next. This was for the best. “Unwept.”

For a single, confused moment, North didn’t realize what she meant, and then his dark, gentle eyes went wide.

“Unhonored—”

“Please, don’t—”

“—and unsung.”

North squeezed his eyes shut, vibrating with the effort of resisting the death words. The edges of him blurred, streaking backwards like smoke. Then, with tremendous effort, he once again fixed his gaze on her, brows furrowed in a deep crease.

Stubborn ghost.

Alex dipped her hand into her pocket, grabbing a handful of what she needed. 

“Alex…” he said softly, lifting one almost-faded hand to drag his fingers through her rain-slicked hair. Gutting her with her own knife would’ve been kinder.

Alex let out a shaky breath, closed her eyes, and tossed the bone dust.

* * *

Dawes strolled into Il Bastone’s sprawling kitchen and leaned both forearms on the green-tiled counter. “We need soil from Tartarus.” She said it the same way someone—a normal, well-adjusted, believed-magic-was-a-hoax person—might mention they needed lemons from the supermarket.

“Tartarus,” Alex repeated, finishing her bite of Captain Crunch before abandoning her freshly-made bowl of cereal. “As in the prison-for-ancient-Greek-Titans zone of the underworld? _That_ Tartarus?”

“Precisely.”

Alex sighed. She shouldn’t have asked. It was her own fault for asking. “I thought the underworld was Egyptian,” she muttered, scowling more than she should have.

“It is many things,” Dawes replied, then stared at the ceiling for a moment. Thinking. Frowning. “I suppose the soil doesn’t _need_ to come from Tartarus, though it would undoubtedly be the highest quality.”

 _If you can’t find pure, refined underworld soil, store bought is fine._ “And why, exactly, do we need soil from hell?”

Dawes idly traced the grout lines with her fingertip. “I have a theory that incorporating soil from the underworld will stabilize the gateway. Make it easier for Darlington to cross back over.”

“A theory.”

“Yes, you see, in science, a theory—”

“I know what a theory is, Dawes.”

“Yes. Well.” Dawes seemed to mentally test out several other responses before finally settling on, “Good.” She didn’t leave the kitchen.

Dammit. Dawes was going to make her ask, wasn’t she? Of course she was. “Okay,” Alex said, “I’ll bite. How do we get the soil?”

“Well,” she started, locking her fingers together as she raised one shoulder, “you mentioned how you and the Bridegroom exchanged items through water...”

Oh no.

“And I was thinking—”

“We’re not speaking right now.”

Dawes made a few silent attempts at starting a new sentence, then softly said, “Perhaps if he knew the importance of—”

“Dirt’s off the table, Dawes.” Alex was striving for light-yet-firm but what came out was closer to harsh-and-extremely-bitchy. She picked up her spoon and pushed bits of golden cereal through her milk. They’d turned soggy. “I’m not giving up on him,” Alex said, promise thick in her throat. “We’ll find another way.”

* * *

Alex could only remain within Il Bastone’s warded walls for so long before life demanded she emerge—one weekend, to be precise. Now that Dean Sandow was out of the picture, Alex was on her own when it came to maintaining her GPA. She didn’t miss the bastard, but she _did_ miss being able to occasionally skip a class (or five).

All good things, et cetera, et cetera.

Alex prepared herself as best she could, spending Saturday evening packing tiny drawstring pouches with bone dust and graveyard dirt, and then all of Sunday scrawling—on Dawes’s discarded paper scraps, in barely legible handwriting—the most potent death words she could find. It was quiet work. She blared music to drown out her thoughts. 

Come Monday, she was about as prepared as she’d ever be, and her 9 o’clock class didn’t give a rat’s ass whether or not she wanted to attend; the timed exam would happen regardless. So, after taking a deep breath, Alex opened the door. 

It was a bleary day, cold and cloudy and muted, and there, at the base of Il Bastone’s front steps, stood her ghost, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze steady on her.

“Unwept, unhonored, and unsung,” she said flatly, a pinch of bone dust sitting heavy in her palm just in case. As it turned out, she didn’t need it. With little more than a look of disappointment, North scattered on the breeze. Just like that. He hadn’t even _tried_ to resist, and for some reason, that stung.

 _It’s for the best,_ she reasoned. Maybe one day she’d believe those words. Maybe one day they wouldn’t taste like a lie.

Banishing North— _the Bridegroom_ , she reminded herself. _Call him the Bridegroom_ —became something of a sport as Alex trekked across campus, trying, like a fool, to go about her normal schedule. The world was so much louder now. Whenever possible, she hummed dirges, which prevented _him_ from even getting close but also had the added benefit of dispelling every other ghost within earshot. Honestly, she felt stupid for not thinking of the solution sooner.

After three days, Nor— the Bridegroom wisened up to her methods and adapted his behavior, opting to linger at a safe distance, outside of banishing-range, and simply watch. Occasionally, he’d wave to her, but only when she made the mistake of catching his gaze. The rest of the time, he was a grey smudge at the edge of her vision, annoying but not harmful; an oily thumbprint on a pair of glasses.

Eventually, he’d lose interest. Eventually, the bond between them would fade. Eventually, she’d just be Dante and he’d just be the Bridegroom. 

Eventually.

There was a problem, of course: ghosts were immortal, and this one, in particular, had a history of clinging to memories. Which meant _eventually_ might yet be a long ways off.

* * *

It seemed patently unfair that Virgil got an entire wetroom. Copper-veined marble, gold hardware, heated floors— and Alex’s personal favorite feature: a state-of-the-art rainfall shower head. Dante’s suite was far less impressive, boasting a curtained clawfoot tub that leaked if the after-market spray nozzle wasn’t angled in the right direction; oh, and a stained-glass window. After stepping in as acting Virgil, Michelle offered to share the wetroom with both Alex and Dawes— insisted, really. Il Bastone had attempted to throw a fit, but Michelle had scolded it soundly, and the poor house hadn’t made a peep since. So, here Alex was, relaxing in excessive luxury.

She tipped her head back. Inhaled deeply. Warm water drummed against her chest, rinsing away the eucalyptus-scented body wash. It was the expensive kind, the moisturizing kind, and the aroma was doing wonderful things for her semi-permanent low-grade headache.

“Don’t banish me,” a dignified voice said from behind her. “I have soil.”

Alex shrieked, clapping one arm around her breasts and dropping her other to cover the dark thatch of hair between her thighs. She almost reached for the tap but his words stayed her hand. _I have soil._ Did that mean what she thought it did? She shook her hair out of her face, then arched her neck so she could glare at North over her shoulder. “North, what the _fuck—_ ”

“I didn’t know how else to contact you.” He had his hands clasped behind his back and he was staring resolutely at the ceiling. Steam curled around him like a cloak.

“Try email.”

A dry laugh. “Miss Stern, you’ve made it abundantly clear that any communication from me is unwanted and will thus go unacknowledged.”

“And yet here you are anyway.”

“As I mentioned, I have soil.”

Alex considered him, grinding her teeth. “Dawes recruit you?” Dumb question. Of course she did. How many other people were trying to get their hands on hell-soil?

“There was a note pinned in the alley,” North offered. “It was left unsigned.”

Alex begrudgingly acknowledged Dawes’s cleverness. Too often she forgot that the jittery, reclusive redhead held the title of Oculus. But North’s explanation was lacking: the note clarified how he knew about the soil, not why he’d actually retrieved it, and _definitely_ not why he was here, now, in her shower. (Virgil’s shower. Semantics.)

Alex narrowed her eyes. “Why do it?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” He still wasn’t looking at her.

“Why help?” Alex repositioned her hands so that both of them were cupping her breasts. There was no point in covering anything else given North’s unflagging disinterest. Half of her had a mind to be offended. “Why get the soil?”

“This will aid in your efforts to rescue Virgil, will it not?” North briefly pursed his lips. “Darlington, as you call him.”

“Yes, but why—”

“You deserve to know peace, Miss Stern.” He continued to stare at the ceiling, silent, as water clipped Alex’s chin, her shoulders. She angled her upper body so her back would catch the brunt of the spray, and one corner of North’s mouth ticced to the side. “I apologize for intruding,” he said in a rush, beginning to fade. “We’ll need a full basin to make the exchange. Summon me when you’re ready—”

“Wait.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, North returned to full opacity but otherwise didn’t move, eyes still trained somewhere far above her head. “Yes, Miss Stern?” he said, voice thick.

Something hot twisted in her gut. “Don’t call me that.”

“Dante, then.”

“Or that.” Alex finally faced him full-on and took a step closer, eating up the last bit of distance between them. She dropped her hands. If she was going to be an idiot, she might as well go all in. “Look at me.” 

His throat worked around a swallow.

“North, look at me.” Alex skimmed her fingers along his chest, over the once-expensive suit, where a thin layer of mist had turned him solid. “Please.”

He held out a few seconds longer, then, haltingly, lowered his chin, followed by his gaze. “Alex…” His eyes were dark and hungry, and the hush of her name on his tongue strung her taut with want. 

Alex coaxed him forward, into the steady overhead stream, and North could’ve been standing in broad daylight for all the water affected his appearance. His silver-black hair remained perfectly coiffed and his suit’s seams remained perfectly crisp; his wound, though. His wound was gone. Like at the river.

Slowly, North traced her cheekbone, her jaw, her lips; the long, bare line of her neck. She shivered. “I shouldn’t want you,” he rasped, sounding every bit like he hated himself.

“Likewise.” 

Pressure at her hip, in the shape of a hand. “Tell me to leave.”

“No.”

North smoothed his palm up, over her damp skin, and settled it on her waist. He was the same temperature as the water. “This doesn’t end happily.”

“I know.”

North pressed his hips to hers, and Alex was beyond delighted to learn death hadn’t rendered his, uh, equipment useless. Curious, she plucked at a button on his vest. It responded normally, as did the two others below it, and soon his waistcoat was hanging open.

Well then.

“One condition,” Alex said, yanking his shirt free of his trousers. North cocked a brow. “No one finds out.”

With a hum, he tangled his fingers in her hair and gave a sharp tug. Alex gasped, dropping her head back. “Then I suggest you keep quiet,” he whispered against her lips, and she barely managed a breath before his mouth was on hers, tasting, seeking, bruising.

Alex undid the clasp on his trousers—made in a different century but not wholly unfamiliar—then reached her hand inside to free his length, stroking him firmly from base to tip. He shuddered and broke the kiss, crushing her to him.

“Sensitive?” she teased.

North made a low noise in the back of his throat and spun her, banding one arm across her stomach to pin her in place as he wedged his free hand between her thighs. When he slicked a finger through her folds, Alex whimpered. “Sensitive?” he echoed, rubbing soft, clever circles.

She squirmed, but his grip was iron. Warm, unyielding iron. Finally, she settled for snaking her hands behind his neck and holding tight while he worked her, harder and harder, until she was mewling.

“Shh,” he warned, dropping a kiss to her throat, just below her ear, then punctuated it with a scrape of his teeth. “Someone will hear you, Miss Stern.”

“Let them.”

“No.” He dipped two fingers in her, and she moaned, so blissfully surprised that such a thing was even possible, that he could actually touch her like this. “I earned these sounds, and I won’t be sharing.” The pressure around her waist disappeared, but before she could turn, North grabbed her by the hip and said, “Hands on the wall, Miss Stern.”

Without his arm holding her upright anymore, Alex all too easily hinged forward, palms slapping loudly against the wet marble, chest heaving. 

“Mm, I quite like you this way,” North mused, pumping his fingers into her again and curling them _just so._ Savage, electric warmth tumbled down her spine. Perhaps later she’d unpack how fucked up it was that a dead man made her feel this alive, but right now she didn’t _care._

Alex screwed her eyes shut, tried to focus on what he was saying. “Which— _ah—_ way?” She was frustratingly short of breath.

North swept her hair to one side, over her shoulder, and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Eager,” he answered. Then, just to prove his point, the bastard withdrew his fingers.

For one impossibly long second, Alex just stood there, hands flat against the wall, water trickling down her back, dumbfounded. Then she swung her head around and glared at him. He was smirking. 

_Double_ bastard. 

“North,” she all but growled, “so help me, if you don’t stick your cock in me in the next five seconds—” The rest of her threat was stolen by a moan, by the feel of him burying himself in her, thick and deep.

“You’ll what?” he chided. “Beg me to fuck you?”

The _mouth_ on him— not that she minded. It was nice to know that beneath the three piece suit and the sophisticated drawl and the confident, unmistakable posture of inherited wealth, he was still his own person. Messy as the rest of them. Messy like her.

North moved against her, cautiously at first. Long, slow strokes; stretching her, filling her. He palmed one of her breasts and squeezed hard enough to make her hiss.

“Quit— _ah—_ being gentle and fuck me properly.” She left off the _you bastard,_ but the sentiment was still very much present.

In response, North slipped a hand between her thighs, instantly located the sensitive bundle of nerves, and said, “Let’s get one thing straight, Miss Stern.” He thumped two fingers against her clit, _hard,_ and Alex squeaked her surprise. A bright, needy pang ricocheted inside her. “Some men take pleasure in being ordered around by a beautiful woman. I am not one of them. But…” He wrapped his free hand around her throat, pulled her flush to his chest. Alex’s pulse beat hard against his thumb. “—if it’s roughness you’re craving—”

_God yes._

“—I’d be happy to oblige.” And with that, he unleashed himself on her, driving into her again and again, fast and cruel, until he found a pace that had them both moaning. He worked her with his fingers as much as his cock, muscles taut, a severe sort of expression on his timeless face.

Alex keened for him, her whole body quivering as she teetered on the edge of release— and then she realized he was keeping her there, a prisoner in that liminal space between pleasure and pain. She reached up and dug her nails into the back of his neck. “North—”

“Yes, Miss Stern?”

Her vision narrowed, and a terrible, merciless heat roiled in her belly. “North, please— please— I need—”

“Alex?” a feminine voice cut in.

Alex yelped, crossing both arms over her breasts and almost falling forward. Thankfully, North caught her. More thankfully, though, Dawes couldn’t see him. Probably. (If Dawes _could_ see that a decades-old ghost had his cock buried inside her, the redhead did an admirable job of pretending like she couldn’t.)

“Kind of in the middle of something, Dawes.”

North huffed a laugh but otherwise stayed quiet. Small mercies.

Dawes had her back to the glass-walled shower, but she was shifting nervously. “I heard nois—”

“I’m fine.”

With one hand, North secured Alex against him; with the other, he massaged her clit. Fucking sadistic _bast—_

“O... Okay. It sounded—”

“Not _now_ , Dawes.” Alex slammed one palm against the copper-veined wall and took a steadying breath, tried not to fixate on the delicious heat coiling in her gut.

“Right.” Dawes gestured toward the door. “I’ll just—” She paused. “Maybe you can come find me when—”

“ _Dawes!_ ”

“Leaving!”

After the door clicked shut, North held her in place and half-heartedly rocked his hips, all the urgency from before gone. Then he went perfectly still. “Tell me you want this,” he said softly, earnestly, and for all his bravado, Alex got the sense that her response _mattered,_ that this wasn’t just a casual fuck for him. 

How long had he haunted secret rooms and forgotten corners? Unseen and unheard? Unable to touch or be touched? How long had he spent watching and wandering and waiting?

How long had he been alone?

Alex pushed herself off the wall, arching her back so she could rest the top of her head against his chest and look up, into his eyes. His dark, dark eyes. Water fell around them. “I want this,” she said, anchoring a hand behind his neck, then added, “I want _you_ ,” and pulled him down into a kiss. When Alex opened her eyes again, North was limned in blue— no, wait; that wasn’t right. _She_ was limned in blue, a soft azure glow hugging her silhouette.

“What…?” North lifted one of his hands, cupping it to catch the water as he stared on in puzzled disbelief, brows drawn. “That’s not… possible…” 

“What’s not—” And then she realized what had captured North’s attention: his skin had color again; tan, where he should’ve been grey. And that wasn’t all—vivid green eyes lit on her, and Alex stumbled forward, panicked, hitting the wall with a sloppy thud. When she looked at North again, he was back to being monochromatic. Grey and grey and grey. “How—?” She couldn’t get the rest of the question out, didn’t even know what to ask.

Water made him solid, even erased his wounds, but always, _always_ he remained grey, silver from his hair to his shoes. This had been different.

Why had this been different?

“You,” North said reverently, like he’d read her mind. “It was you.”

Alex swallowed. She wasn’t glowing anymore, but that blue light… Belbalm’s magic had looked the same.

_We are Wheelwalkers..._

“Again,” North said— demanded, really. Something desperate flashed behind his eyes—colorless now, though Alex couldn’t seem to forget the healthy shade of green they’d been, like pine needles in spring—and he beckoned her toward him. “Please.”

She went, joining him beneath the cascading water. “I don’t…” Alex shook her head. “I don’t even know what I did.”

He placed her hand against his chest. Held it there. “Try?” 

Alex concentrated, closed her eyes. What had happened just before she lit up like a neon sign? They’d been kissing, and she’d been thinking about how much she wanted him— and how tragic it was that he only existed at the edge of things, a world apart. She’d wanted him to be here— _really_ be here—with her. She’d wanted— 

North gasped, and Alex threw her eyes open. A thin blue aura once again clung to her like a second skin. He tipped his head back, letting the water splash against his face. “I can feel it,” he said in awe, lips barely moving. 

Curious, she pulled her hand back, and unsurprisingly, North returned to his previous dull grey state. Before he could complain, she touched him again, and again he bloomed with color. This time, though, she’d been expecting the change; this time, she felt the tug—like a magnet yanking on its match. It was almost as if…

His essence. She’d called forth his essence. It was the only explanation.

Water soaked North’s hair, plastering the dark brown strands to his forehead. She’d never seen him disheveled before. It suited him. As did the boyish grin pulling at his lips. Then he grew suddenly serious and took her face in his hands, green eyes brimming with a dozen unnamable emotions. “Alex, if other Grays discover you’re able to do this…” There was fear in his voice, but her mind was reeling.

Would it _only_ work with Grays? Or could she use this ability on other creatures too?

“No one can find out,” North said, jostling her slightly to get her attention again. “Do you understand?”

“I think…” Alex smiled. The ethereal glow cocooned itself around her, pulsing like a heartbeat. “I think I know how to save Darlington.”

* * *

**_-Three Weeks Later-_ **

Alex took stock of the space: sigils on the floorboards, a bowl of hell-dirt, several vials of questionable liquids, a ring of bone dust. All the trappings of a normal ritual. Perhaps if she pretended like this wasn’t a big deal, her nerves would go away. 

“Deep breaths, Miss Stern.”

Alex scoffed. “Forgive me if I don’t take respiratory advice from a dead man.”

North stared at her, unbothered. Over the past few weeks, as they’d worked refining her new soul-calling skill, she’d grown used to seeing color in those eyes, but at the moment they were a cold, dark, lifeless grey. And the wound on his chest… she had to keep reminding herself that it didn’t pain him. 

“Is he… here?” Dawes asked, eyes glancing about the room, from the peeling wallpaper to the worn-down flooring to the shadows that bent in unnatural directions. The wards at Black Elm were effective but they weren’t without side effects. 

North made a small, amused sound. “Perhaps I should tug on her headphones.”

“Don’t make me banish you,” Alex said under her breath. North winked at her. On a sigh, she turned toward Dawes. “Yeah, he’s here. You need to tell him something?” 

“Oh, um. Well.” Dawes cleared her throat and turned, very slowly, in a circle. “Hello, uh, Mister North—”

Alex hooked her thumb in North’s general direction, and Dawes reoriented herself.

“I don’t mean to put unnecessary pressure on you, but we’re really counting on your protection tonight.” She tucked a stray red curl behind her ear. “If Alex is going to—”

“He knows the plan,” Alex interrupted, tone more abrasive than she’d intended. She threw Dawes an apologetic glance, then looked at North. “You sure you’re up to guarding the perimeter alone?”

He inclined his head. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Alex’s chest went tight.

Right on cue, Michelle strolled into the room, a mortar and pestle cradled in her arm, and took up her position on the south side of the circle. “Everyone ready?”

Dawes muttered a _yes_ , then joined Michelle at the south edge. In her hands, she held a fat book, opened to the page where she’d scribbled the incantation for this evening’s ritual. Again, it was of her own design. Oculus could be dangerously creative when she wanted to be.

Alex walked to her spot on the east edge of the circle and said, “Let’s just get this over with.” For the first part of the ritual, she and North would turn away unwelcome Grays. Easy. Once Dawes and Michelle got the portal open, though, that would very quickly change.

“If this goes sideways,” North said, “I’ll come for you.” The words were heavy and sure, spoken with utter conviction. 

Alex stared at him, paralyzed, unsure how to respond. What was one supposed to say when another person vowed to follow them into hell? _Thank you_? _Please don’t_? _I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you_?

Dawes and Michelle started chanting, and magic swirled in the air, staining each inhale with a sour tang— finally breaking Alex out of her stupor. She nodded toward North, hating the way the gesture fell short of what she wanted to convey. He lingered for another few moments on the outskirts of the circle, and then, without another word, phased through the far wall.

Alex shook her head to clear it, focusing on the widening black void in the center of the room. “Okay, Stern,” she whispered to herself, doing her best impression of Darlington. Calm, focused, would-be-able-to-pull-this-off-in-his-sleep-with-both-hands-tied-behind-his-back Darlington. She owed it to him to get this right. (She owed him more than that, but this was a start.) 

Alex rolled her shoulders and drew her own magic close. Blue light skittered across her skin, waking up, twining with the spellwork of the ritual, growing stronger. She took a deep breath. 

Let it out. 

Alex gazed into the depthless black, and smiled. “Just like going fishing.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/rjsheddwrites) >:]


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